


Writing Prompts

by tejaswrites



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, One Shot Collection, writing prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2020-09-07 01:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 11,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20301331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tejaswrites/pseuds/tejaswrites
Summary: A collection of one shots and drabbles. Most prompts from the weekly thread at r/DragonAge.Pairing or character is in each chapter title.Includes:Solona Amell x AlistairEvelyn Trevelyan x SolasMarian Hawke x Sebastian VaelPersephone Hawke x RylenDesmond Hawke x Isabela





	1. A Gleam of Silver (Solona x Alistair)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** An amused chuckle, a lock of hair tucked behind an ear, a gleam of silver, a curving smile.

It had been one of those days, Alistair thought as he flopped down onto his bedroll. They’d been attacked by assassins and Solona had not only allowed the assassin to live, but invited him to join them.

Join them!

With a huff, Alistair stripped off his armor and headed down toward the small creek near which they’d camped. He’d seen Solona sitting next to the assassin by the fire, their two golden heads bent together as they whispered. It had taken her mere minutes before she welcomed him as though they were old friends rediscovered.

He loved that about her. Or at least he had until she invited the assassin who’d tried to kill her into the fold.

After a quick scrub in the freezing cold water, he headed back toward camp, his clothing clinging to his damp skin. As he approached the warmth of the fire, he heard the Antivan let out an amused chuckle at whatever Solona said. Jealousy flared inside of him at the sound.

He shot a glare toward the two of them, the light in Solona’s warm golden eyes doing nothing to help tamp down his annoyance. Her face turned questioning, but he didn’t stop as he walked past his tent and out toward the forest. Evenfall was upon them as the sun finally slipped below the trees.

He slid his hand into his pocket, feeling the soft petals of the flower he’d carried since Lotering. He’d wanted to give it to her earlier… he almost had, finally working up the nerve to tell her what he felt about her, but then that bloody assassin appeared and sent his plans straight to the void.

“Alistair?” The low timbre of her voice washed over him, setting his senses on alert. With deep breath, he turned to face her. The glow of the fire barely reached them out here, but he could see the gleam of her silver necklace in the low light. He traced the path of the silver with his eyes, down to where the pendant disappeared beneath her clothing. She'd told him it was the only piece of her mother she had left. She had no memories of the woman who’d abandoned her, but she wore it all the same.

Solona stepped closer toward him and he snapped his eyes back up to her face. Her curving smile was cat-like in the low light and he reddened at having been caught staring at her… womanly features. Her hand lifted to her face to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she move in even closer to him. For a moment, Alistair forgot to breathe.

When he finally took in a breath, he inhaled the scent of her and, despite the chill of the early spring evening, he felt… Maker preserve him for the thoughts that consumed him. She cocked her head at him, that teasing smile still playing across her lips. “Are you well?” She asked him in mock concern, her golden eyes widening and her hand lifting up to his forehead where a slight sweat had broken out.

“I’m fine,” he forced out, struggling to remember the lines of Apotheosis to distract him from the feel of her fingers as they moved down the side of his face. Reciting the verses of Andraste’s death had always been a distraction before, but even that dark thought couldn’t diminish the light of the living, breathing woman standing here in front of him.

“If you're doing so well, you should come join us by the fire,” she said, trailing her finger along the collar of his shirt. “Leliana promised to sing.” The look she gave him over her shoulder as she sauntered away had him starting Apotheosis all over again.

Maker’s breath.


	2. The Aftermath (Solona)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** Mage Warden: Walking through the abomination infested halls of Kinloch Hold and come upon the body of someone your warden mage knows quite well.

Kinloch Hold changed everything.

Every time they came upon the white and red robes of a Chantry lay sister, Solona held her breath. She prayed that it hadn’t been her week to visit the Hold. Or that she had sent someone else in her stead.

She begged the Maker above that Maria-Teresa wouldn’t be among the faces of the dead.

Solona’s fingers found her way to the silver chain she always wore around her neck, the simple pendant at the end tucked in beneath her robes. She told Alistair the necklace had been a gift from her mother, which was not… untrue. It was not from her birth mother. Not from the woman who’d abandoned her at the Chantry when she was still a baby. No, the necklace was a gift from the lay sister who’d found her on the stoop. The woman who’d raised her and loved her as though she were her own.

The Antivan woman called her Sol. Antivan for sun. Whenever Solona asked why, the answer changed depending on the woman’s mood. Some days it was for her hair, “radiant like the sun.” Other days it was for “your endless brightness, _mija_.”

_Mija_. My daughter.

Solona knew the word was just an endearment that Maria-Teresa used, but she cherished it nonetheless.

Room after room, floor after floor… The sheer amount of death that had taken hold across the halls of Kinloch Hold was beginning to weigh on Solona’s very soul.

She paused at the top of the stairs, taking a moment’s reprieve before she pushed open the doors. And to her dismay, there in the middle of the room was the silky black hair of Maria-Teresa, spread out across the floor, her robes more red than white. Her body surrounded by abominations. Corrupted remnants of the mages and friends she’d lived beside for the past decade.

It was the first room she didn't hesitate as she cut them down. One by one. Until the room was silent in the aftermath of her destruction.

Only then did she collapse on the ground next to the blood-soaked body of Maria-Teresa to mourn.

Yes, Kinloch Hold changed everything.


	3. Idle Gossip (Solona x Alistair)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** Dialogue only: Tell your OC's story through the gossip about them.

“Marnie! Joanie! Christie! Come quick! The army is on their way to the village. Look, look! There, at the end of the road… Who is that next to the arl?”  


“By the Maker, sister. Is that her? Then she is truly a mage?” 

“It must be her. The songs say her hair is the color of spun gold and her laugh just as precious.” 

“A laugh as precious as gold? Don’t be ridiculous, Joanie.” 

“They also say her lover is to be king of Ferelden.” 

“A mage? The king's mistress? Oh, sister!” 

“His mistress? No. I heard from Agnes, who heard from Primrose, who’s eldest sister is married to one of the stablehands, that he may even marry her! A mage! Queen of Ferelden!” 

“That can’t be. You had to have heard wrong.” 

“How could he do that Queen Anora? After all she’s done for Ferelden?” 

“I’m only repeating _exactly_ what Agnes said to me just this morning!” 

“I thought the Wardens were the enemy?” 

“No! In fact, it was Teyrn Loghain who did the dastardly deed!” 

“Dastardly deed? You’ve been reading too many of those northern novels again, haven’t you? Marnie dear, Warden Amell saved Arl Eamon. She’s the reason we can even visit the village again.” 

“Agnes says—” 

“A pox on that girl! You know better than to listen to her idle gossip, Christie.” 

“Joanie?” 

“What is it, Marnie?” 

“If she’s going to be queen, then why is she crying?”


	4. Well, Shit. (Marian Hawke x Sebastian)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** The moment Hawke receives the letter from Varric asking them to come to Skyhold.

“Viscountess. You’ve received a letter.” The steward, Pickens, stood at the door holding the piece of paper by one corner, as though it might bite him.

“It’s just Hawke now, Pickens. And a letter? Here?” Hawke turned in her seat as toward Sebastian, her eyebrows furrowed in question. Pickens stepped forward and dropped the letter on the table between them, beating a hasty retreat out of the room. She stared at the letter at the table, wondering how the sender had known she'd be here. She’d been in Starkhaven but a few days as a stopover on her way back to southern Thedas.

Maker willing, she’d find the answers she was looking for in Ferelden. She prayed, for at least thousandth time since they’d parted, that her sister’s journey to the Anderfels was proceeding safely, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Hawke needed answers.

Sebastian was inspecting the outside of the letter when Hawke snatched it out his hands. “If you so much breathed a word to anyone—”

“_Dinna fash_, my love. I would not.”

She broke the seal, opening the folded letter and scanning the first few lines. Relief washed over her at Varric’s familiar scrawl. Varric knew that Sebastian would get her the message, no matter where she might be. She was still safe here. But as she continued down the page, her frown deepened.

“Marian?” Hawke looked up into Sebastian’s pale blue eyes. His face mirrored hers, his brow burrowed deep in concern. Hawke sighed as she held out the letter for him to read.

When he was done and his eyes found hers again, she finally was able to speak. “He’s back.”

As the two stared at each other, thinking about what this all meant. It was supposed to be over. She'd killed him for Maker's sake. They'd both seen it with their own eyes.

"I cannot say it any better than Varric." Sebastian looked down at the bottom of the page where Varric had scrawled a post-script. "'Well, shit'."


	5. Giants! (Evelyn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** “Giants.” ---“What?”---“GIANTS!”

Evelyn felt as though they’d been fighting through Suledin Keep for days already, even though it hadn’t even been a few hours. Between the quarry and the Red Templars outside the gates, they’d been fighting for weeks. But this… this felt as though it were lasting forever.

Bull lifted Sera onto a wall and the lithe woman jumped nimbly between the ledges to get a better view. Evelyn could have sworn she heard the word “Giants” whispered from some distance above her. “What?” She whispered back as loud as she dared.

“GIANTS!” Dorian came flying around the corner ahead of them, his cape flapping behind him, as the ground rumbled beneath her feet.

“Shitballs, fuck, shit, crap.” Sera appeared above her, bow in hand, as she ran along the top of the wall shouting, “Cold, shit, arse, giants, crap!”

The slow-moving giant rounded the corner, a large piece of stone in hand. Evelyn could just make out the intricate carvings on it and she briefly wondered whether he’d pulled it from the crumbling fortress, destroying the beautiful ruins further, or if it had already fallen when Bull grabbed her and pulled her out of the stone’s path.

“Not the time, Boss.” They skidded around another corner where Dorian and Sera waited. The ground had stopped moving and a quick look around the wall told her that the giant hadn’t followed, instead wandering back to wherever Dorian had found him.

“Has anyone ever seen a giant before?” She asked, looking between them. Bull shrugged as he pulled several potions out of his pack and tucked them into his pockets.

“Of course,” Dorian scoffed, brushing invisible lint of his bare shoulder. “They’re common in Tevinter.”

“So what do we do?”

“Oh, I’ve no idea about _that_. You just asked about seeing one.” She rolled her eyes and he sniffed back at her in faux annoyance. “Your magic is more useful than any of mine. I’ll keep an eye on Bull and Sera, you give him everything you’ve got.”

“Bring on the baddies,” Sera said, signaling at Bull for a lift. With Sera back on the wall, they moved out in formation.


	6. Scars (Evelyn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** “Do not waver, do not hesitate, do not second guess- Take charge and strike!”

“How did you obtain your scars?” Solas asked quietly. A quick glance over her shoulder told her the other two were squabbling a fair enough distance behind them. Instinctively, she reached to smooth her hair over the scar, but her hair was short. Much too short now to cover the burn scar snaking down her jawline and neck.

“Accident,” she said with nonchalance, hoping he didn’t inquire further.

“Herald.” His voice was as gentle as it was pressing, “Whomever healed those wounds was obviously an expert and they still left scars. That was no accident.”

She sighed a long, deep sigh. She’d been waiting for someone to ask, now that her deformed skin was laid bare for everyone to see. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again before she said anything.

What did she know about this elven apostate? Nothing, really. And if the Circle taught her anything, it was that you couldn’t trust anyone. Trusting the wrong person could get you killed. Or worse.

_Tranquil_.

But knew she owed her life to elven man beside her. The man that had kept the mark in her hand from killing her. She knew that, and she knew she enjoyed his company. She enjoyed his quiet presence beside her on their travels, his intricate stories of his journeys in the Fade, and his kindness. Not everyone saw that side of him, but she’d seen glimpses of his compassion. If anything, he remained aloof to cover how much he cared.

In truth, he reminded her so much of Felas, she often had to remind herself they were different people. Solas’s distinctively bare face was just as jarring to her now as the bold, black ink of Felas’s full vallaslin had jarred her then. The night black vines intertwined across his forehead, circling his eyes, covering his cheeks, down over his thin lips to his chin, where the roots ended in a point. Like a heart.

More specifically, the beating heart of the forest, to remind him that the elves were stronger together than just as one.

In addition to being a master healer, he was a master storyteller. During the long days and nights she spent in the infirmary, he’d told her the stories of his people and of his clan. Life in the forest, outside the confines of the Circle walls, seemed so romantic to her at the time. His stories fired her curiosity and drove her into the libraries to learn more about Elvhenan, eager to impress him. He was much older than her own teenage years, but she’d fallen hard and fast, his worldliness so exotic to her own lack of experience.

A leaf crunched beneath her feet, bringing her back to the Hinterlands where Solas walked silently next to her, his bare feet matching her stride along the well-worn path.

“Felivetanis,” she said at last, a faraway look in her eyes. Solas’s eyes flickered toward her but he waited, patiently as always. “But to me he was just Felas, the calm, and he was a master healer. He saved my life on more than one occasion. I will always be thankful to him for that, among other things.”

Solas glanced at her curiously, but still did not speak. They walked in silence for several minutes, listening to sounds of the earth around them.

“And the wounds that gave you those scars?”

“Senior Enchanter Ellsworth, inferno magic.” Her hand reached up to smooth her hair over the disfigured skin. When her fingers reached the end of her now too short hair, she thought about how much time it would take to break this habit of more than a decade.

A strange calm set over her as she thought about those early days in the Circles and of Enchanter Ellsworth’s strong dislike of her from the day she arrived. She was still a child, but he often singled her out for lessons, targeting her with his ire and ridicule.

It was a cold day in Haring when he’d taken them outside and set Evelyn up in the middle of the courtyard. She’d been so focused on staying warm, her thin robes not near enough to keep the icy cold from creeping in, she barely registered Ellsworth’s nasally intonation as he said, “Now class, remember: Do not waver, do not hesitate, do not second guess. Take charge and strike!”

She didn’t realize she’d been hit until she woke up in the infirmary.

Felivetanis saved her life that day. He’d healed her and he’d taught her how to protect herself. And he’d taught her how to fight back. He may have been the Circle’s healer, but he was also skilled in rift magic, a study considered so arcane, they refused to grant him a Senior Enchanter position because it had no applicable use in today’s world.

She wondered now whether that was the real reason, or whether it was because he was an elf. The politics of the Circle disgusted her.

Solas cleared his throat. “And?”

“He tried to kill me. More than once. Felas taught me how to protect myself.”

Solas chuckled. “That explains your barriers.”

“My barriers?”

“In all my wanderings, I’ve never seen a human, especially one with such an affinity toward storm magic, pull so firmly on the Veil. It’s quite impressive.”

His compliment surprised her. She blushed deeply as it registered. She’d always considered her barriers superior to others, but to hear it from Solas, her resident Fade-expert, well… that meant something. She risked a glance in his direction to see a ghost of a smile on his bare face.


	7. But a Dream (Evelyn x Solas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** Visual Prompt

Evelyn loved the Emerald Graves. She could sense the beating heart of the forest through her feet as she stepped into the churning water, the cold waterfall enveloping her, taking away her breath.

The Red Templars in the Graves had been relentless in their pursuit. For the first time in what felt like weeks, she had been able to let her guard down long enough to bathe, the blessed water running over her.

The forest hummed with energy, she could feel it surrounding her—in the earth below her, the water around her, sky above her. There was something there, an undercurrent hovering just under the surface of the world, that was reminiscent of Skyhold. She’d asked Solas once about the magic she felt, pulsing around them, but he’d merely smiled and turned back to his sketches, refusing to answer her question.

She leaned back into the water, floating along the surface, the warm air caressing her naked body, at odds with the cold water. Her thoughts wandered back to Solas, the lessons he’d been giving her about using the Fade in her magic. Stilling her mind as she floated, she felt the thrum grow stronger, focusing on the flow of energy around her as she meditated.

When she opened her eyes, the world had changed.

The waterfall was still there, cascading down beautifully carved stones into a bath. The vaulted ceilings and large windows highlighting the glittering green and gold mosaics that decorated the walls. With a gasp, she stood upright in the pool of water and looked around at the people moving around her.

_Elves._

They were tall and lithe, their faces naked of the vallaslin that were so common place amongst the Dalish of Thedas. Some were lounging along the sides of the baths, their white robes accentuating the golden stacks around their necks and arms.

She stepped out of the water and a waiting attendant handed her one of the white flowing robes. The young elf had the vallaslin, a marking she’d never seen before amongst the Dalish. Evelyn wrapped the robe around her, noting the softness of the fabric, how the gauze seemed to hang perfectly on her body, as another attendant joined her—same facial markings as the last—and began to pin her hair up in loose curls on top of her head.

Once the pins were in place, the two women brought her stacks of golden necklaces and bracelets, placing them on her neck and wrists. It was odd, was it not? That these two elven women were treating her as though she herself were elven, and apparently nobility at that, judging by the company that surrounded her.

She exited the baths through a flowing archway, covered in vines, and entered a large hallway with more elves milling around. She felt a prickling sensation that someone was watching her, but as she glanced around, no one seemed to be paying her much mind.

At that moment, the crowd parted and she saw a man watching her with his piercing blue eyes, his black hair twisted up on his head, a golden circlet topped with a wolf skull resting there. Instead of a white robe, he was dressed in golden armor, a wolf pelt wrapped across one shoulder. She trembled under his piercing gaze as she took a step toward him. He seemed so familiar to her, if she could just—

“Inquisitor!” The Seeker’s loud voice pulled her from her dream. Evelyn dropped her feet to the bottom of the pool, suddenly quite cold and ready to get back to camp. _Of course, the Fade_, she thought bitterly as she trudged out of the water, trying to cement all the details into her mind so she could look into them later.

Cassandra filled her in on the latest report from the scouts which boiled down to more Red Templars spotted nearby. Dusk was falling as she arrived back at the camp, her short hair still damp as she approached the campfire. Cassandra was sitting down, deep in conversation with Varric within the circle of firelight.

“I hope your bath was enjoyable, Inquisitor,” came Solas’s low timber from behind her. She spun around, not having heard his approach, his features slightly wolfish in the shadows. As he stepped into the firelight, she felt a tug of familiarity, reaching into the recesses of her mind to—

“Come, let’s join the others,” he told her as he walked passed her, his bare feet moving silently, and she watched his smooth gait as he circled the fire to sit beside the dwarf on the downed log.

What had she been thinking of?


	8. Breathe (Evelyn x Solas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** “I can’t even hear myself think”

They’d been in the Fallow Mire for days searching for the Inquisition soldiers that had been lost. The incessant rain and constant wetness of the place combined with the unrelenting attacks of undead was almost too much for her to bear. She longed for the cool air of Haven, huddled next to the warm fire inside the gates, listening to one of Varric’s tales about Kirkwall.

Dorian was complaining, _again. _The damp sleeping conditions, the lack of wine, the moldy clothes… they all felt this and more. She’d not been too keen on the Tevinter mage when he asked to join the Inquisition after Redcliffe and now she was downright regretting her decision. Vivienne was enough of a high-maintenance mage, this second one was going to drive her into the Breach.

The Iron Bull was goading Dorian about him being a “dirty Vint,” literally and metaphorically, and Dorian was lamenting about the poor conditions.

“Enough!” She shouted, leaping to her feet, “You’re all going into an electric cage if I can’t get some Maker-damned peace and quiet! I can’t even hear myself think with your incessant whining.”

Dorian and Bull sat in silence as she strode past them away from camp. Solas had been organizing his pack when she started her outburst, and he sat back on his heels watching her leave. Once she certain she was far enough away from the camp, she threw a handful of lightening bolts at a lonesome rock in the middle of the Mire.

Instead of relieving the pressure, it continued to build and she began screaming, unloading barrages of energy and bolts at the poor, unsuspecting rock. An electric storm had gathered around her, responding to her energy. The winds picked up and lightening bolts struck around her at random, her signature purple electricity in the bolts marked them as hers.

With one last, feral scream and a blast of energy at the rock, she slumped down onto her knees, holding onto her staff for dear life as the tears overtook the anger.

She wept for the deep loneliness she felt. She hadn’t asked for this, no, she didn’t even _want_ the responsibilities the mark had foisted upon her. She longed for her quiet life back in the Ostwick Circle. Even with all the pain, she longed for the routine, the comfortable corners of her library, three meals a day and a warm, dry place to sleep. They had all chosen this. They had made a conscious, deliberate choice.

And yet, she was the one who had to bear the brunt of the world’s wrath and anger.

She gasped for air as convulsions wracked her body, howls of pain slipping out from time to time and she wrangled the pain inside of her.

“Breathe.” Solas’s soothing voice broke through her cries. A sense of serenity passed through her as his strong arms wrapped around her shoulders. “_Amahn'ar_.”

Dropping her staff, she wrapped her arms under his own, pulling him closer, and buried her head in his chest, letting her lament free. When the last of her tears had fallen, she simply sat there, holding on to the last moments of peace for another minute longer.

When she finally pulled back, she noticed he’d erected a swirling gold barrier around them, keeping them dry from the rain. She gave him a small smile, her eyes still damp from the tears.

“_Ma serannas_, Solas.”

Keeping the barrier active, he leaned back against the rock she’d directed her fury at and pat the space next to him, she leaned against him. He surprised her by wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She settled in further, taking comfort in the feeling of his arm around her, the sense that she was not entirely alone. They sat there, side by side, as the silence dragged on, raindrops sliding down the barrier surrounding them, the warm scent of him in each breath she took.

She turned her face up toward his own. “Tell me of the Fade.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Amahn'ar_ \- I am here  
_Ma serannas_ \- Thank you


	9. First Dance (Evelyn x Solas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt**: "Shut up and dance with me"

They had done it. The Breach was closed. Evelyn closed her eyes, feeling the coolness of the early winter winds whispering through the village.

She couldn’t believe it had worked. Solas insisted it would. They’d debated endlessly about it on the way to Redcliffe, staying up late into the night discussing the technicalities of the magic and all the different scenarios. He had been so certain, so sure…

And he had been correct. But instead of celebrating with him and the others, Evelyn was hiding up here, watching from a distance.

She’d never been to a party. They weren’t allowed in the Circle. She’d never danced the night away with friends or a lover. It was embarrassing, that as a twenty-eight year old woman, she had no idea what to do. She’d learned as a child, of course, but those were the children’s dances. Not how one manages to twirl around in the arms of another person.

A cheer rose up from below her, near the dance floor. Dorian had just lifted her sister up into the air and swung her around, much to the crowd’s delight. How did Dorian do it? After everything they had just been through at Redcliffe? How did manage to get out there and look so carefree? So happy?

“I’m not surprised to find you up here.”

Evelyn smiled at hearing Solas’s voice beside her. She turned, lifting her chin up toward him. He was tall, for an elf. Something she’d scare noticed until recently. “Yes, well, Josephine insisted I celebrate.”

“As you should. Is is a victory, is it not?”

She shrugged and looked back down at the people dancing below her. Even the surly doctor had joined in on the festivities. If he could do it, surely Evelyn could manage?

“And yet you are up here all alone.”

Since Redcliffe, things had been different. They’d shifted since that dark future, when Solas had taken her face in his hands and urged her to live well. Solas had been one of the few she’d trusted from the beginning. He’d never treated her as though she were different. An abomination.

The others didn’t realize they were doing it, but they did. But with Solas, she felt like he saw her. The real her. And he would never judge her for what she lacked… would he?

“Go, celebrate with them. There is nothing to worry about tonight.”

She took a deep breath. “Solas?”

“Yes, my friend?”

“Will you please shut up and dance with me? I’ve never...” Evelyn captured her lower lip between her teeth.

He studied her face for a moment. At his silence, Evelyn rushed forward, “Never mind, it was a stupid—”

“Do not take my silence to mean that I do not want to. I am merely surprised a beautiful woman such as yourself has never had the pleasure of a dance before.” Her face heated as he stepped back and held out his hand to her. “Come, before the band stops playing. Dance with me.”

And as the snow fell softly around them, Solas pulled her into his arms and led her expertly through the steps of her first dance.


	10. Prophecy (Evelyn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt**: Prophecy

I always wondered if my parents knew the prophecy and that is why they named us what they had.

Evelyn, the longed for child, sounded innocuous enough. I was the last of the Trevelyan line. But then they’d had another and they’d named her Ariana, chaste and holy. No one would question the devoutness of this household. They would not question our commitment to the Maker and the Chantry.

But it was the middle names that we had later grown into that gave me pause. That made me wonder if they had always known what we would become.

My mother had given me the name Lilith. Of the night. Night monster and storm goddess. Woman who refused to submit.

My father had added Adrestia. She who cannot be escaped. Goddess of revolt and just retribution. The equilibrium between order and chaos.

And my sister had been given the names Kalista, she who is most beautiful, and Freyja, goddess of love and war. 

It was the prophecy that made wonder if they had allowed us to be separated. If they encouraged me to be left in the Circle, to be isolated from the outside world, to be beaten into submission.

The legends said that Eve was the first wife of man, created from his side to serve him, and it was her that doomed mankind to the silence of the Maker. It was her that brought magic into the world. The woman was created to obey. She was created serve. She had no purpose outside of that.

But in the libraries of the Circle, written in a language so ancient that only spirits of the Fade remembered the tongue, there was the story of Lilith. The original woman, created alongside man. Equal and no less strong.

They called her demon and cursed her children. They locked them away behind a barrier, separate and reviled. But since that day, mankind has been engaged in a war for their very existence as Lilith’s children fought back.

The prophecy told of the beautiful evil who would bring nations to war, weakening an already fragile humanity. They told of the woman who would destroy the barrier that contained them and wreak havoc on an already hurting world.

It was long believed the prophecy spoke of one woman, but now I wonder if my parents knew that it was both their daughters that were borne of the prophecy that made the heavens tremble and the stone quake.

If they knew that we were both goddess and demon and that we were the ones who would destroy the world.


	11. The Eluvian (Evelyn x Solas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt**: Candlelight. Wine. Hushed words. Silk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: infertility

Her body was wrapped in a robe of the finest Orlesian silk, the silky black fabric caressing her skin; the candelabras were alight, the dozen tiny fires encasing her little corner in an inviting glow; and the carafe of wine stood at the ready, on the table next to the cloth-covered piece of furniture in the corner of her room. 

In the months, almost a year now, since she'd returned from Orlais, this had become somewhat of a ritual. She'd had it relocated after the Exalted Council, even though they'd all tried to talk her out of it. Leliana and Cullen considered it a security risk. Josephine worried about the rumors that would--and _had_\--sprung up. Ariana, to her credit, said nothing, but Evelyn knew she disapproved.

She didn't need them to like it and she certainly didn't need their approval. After everything she'd done for them, the least they could do is grant her this.

Her former self would have explained. She would have wanted them, the people she trusted most, on her side. Not anymore. She was no longer the timid Circle mage she'd once been. She was the second inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, savior of Thedas, and repository of the knowledge of Elvhenan. She had brought down a mountain and slayed the man who would be a god.

As she did each night, she tugged the corner of the cloth and watched the Eluvian emerge from beneath it. The vir'abelasan delivered the knowledge to block the passage, closing the portal to the crossroads. Blocked, but not sealed.

With the exception of it's distinct shape, the Eluvian could have been any mirror. The glass showed a reflection of herself and as she always did, she gripped the tie around her waist and tugged.

The robe fell away. Candelight bathed her body in warm light as the breeze caressed her skin. Gently, but Evelyn knew the Frostbacks could send a chilling wind at any moment from her snow-capped peaks. 

Evelyn held her own gaze in the mirror as she reached for the carafe of wine, holding it steady as she poured herself a glass of wine of ruby red wine and deliberately lifted it to her lips. 

Her hair was still shock white, as it had been since the Conclave, but the years had lengthened it. She typically wore it tightly contained in elaborate hairstyles, but here, in the darkness when it was only her, she loved the way it fell in soft waves around her shoulders and brushed the small of her back.

It had taken her months after the failed Conclave to adjust to the vivid Breach-green and it had taken her more months to adjust to the loss of that ferocity in her now emerald green eyes. The loss of the anchor had made her as mortal-looking as anyone else.

She shifted her gaze to her scar, studying the way the damaged skin curled over her jaw and down her neck. It was laughable now that she'd been so ashamed of it. She'd spent almost a decade hiding that scar... Turning her face so that no one would look upon it or covering it with her hair or her hand. Now she knew better. Her scars were the physical representation of what she'd been through. Of who she was.

Like her arm.

Evelyn stared at the empty space. The anchor had been eating her body alive, from the inside out, and it had been the only way to save her. Or at least, that's what he'd said. Evelyn had long ago accepted that loss, but it wasn't the only piece of herself she'd lost that day.

Her eyes settled on her lower belly, above the apex of her thighs, and she ran her hand over it. There was no scarring there. No visual symbol of what she had lost, but it was real all the same.

She turned her face, unable to look any longer. He had taken _everything_ from her.

"_Ir abelas, vhenan_."

She snapped her eyes back to the mirror. The hushed words had been spoken so gently, Evelyn thought she'd forgotten to silence the voices of the People, but no... there he was. His hand against the glass as he gazed at her, a thousand apologies written in his eyes.

As she did each night, she simply stared back. In the earliest days, she'd wept as though her tears could heal what had been broken. Tears had given way to rage, as though her threats would change what had happened. Now she simply stared. She knew that nothing could change what had been done. Now all that was left was to stop what he'd begun.

As the first light of morning began to lighten the room, Evelyn lifted her hand to his, allowing herself the single moment of weakness, before she closed the portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ir abelas_ \- (Elven) I'm sorry  
_vhenan_ \- (Elven) heart


	12. The Looking Font (Marian Hawke/Persephone Hawke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black Emporium has a new item: Aspersorium of Zinovia, named after the famed mage who had visions of the future, and was the consort of Archon Valerius.
> 
> **Codex Entry**: _It is a large font, made out of white stone, and the water is about a foot deep. The water feels cool to the touch, and is enchanted to activate when three ounces of lyrium are carefully dripped into it, clockwise. The lyrium activates a spell that has been officially lost to history- we do not have a name for it now, we simply know this spell gives you insights and visions of alternate futures, pasts, and presents- where you see someone else in your place, making different decisions, choices- where you see different consequences. _
> 
> _Be very careful when using this. Visitors who have used this for long periods of time, have been known to go insane or simply die from the fumes that the lyrium gives off when it is being dripped into the basin._
> 
> **The challenge**: Your Warden, Your Hawke, or your Inquisitor has come to the Black Emporium and sees this item. Curiosity takes over and they take a look.

Marian Hawke approached the shallow pool of water, phial of lyrium in hand. She’d come alone to the Black Emporium, listening to Xenon's ramblings as she approached the new relic in the back corner. She'd seen it yesterday and wanted to try it out on the spot, but Sebastian had stopped her.

_“My heart, be careful what you wish for. There is dark magic at work in that. I beg of you, don't use it... Please.”_

_“But Seb, it will be fun,” she insisted. “Besides, I’m not a mage. How bad can it be?”_

The answer to which she was about to find out. She allowed the lyrium to slowly drip in, moving the phial clockwise at a steady pace until it was all gone. The water rippled as the blue liquid dispersed evenly into the water, changing it to a chalky shade of off-white.

Marian leaned forward until she caught sight of her reflection. But as she gazed at herself, the vision began to change.

Through the windows she could see that Kirkwall was burning, the night sky shades of orange and red behind the Viscount's throne. But instead of Dumar, a woman in a black dress sat on the throne, a golden diadem atop her dark hair. She seemed familiar, but Marian knew she’d have remembered her. That tattoo on her chin was too distinct not to. Her red lips were stark against her pale skin and her eyes burned with hatred.

Marian tried to stumble back, to break the eye contact, but she couldn't. It was as though she were rooted to the spot.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the Prince of Starkhaven in the flesh," the woman drawled as Sebastian came into the picture. Her heart sped up at seeing him in the font. There had been a cold dread seeping into her at what she was seeing, but now that Sebastian was involved, horror began to overtake the dread.

"Hawke." Sebastian's lips rose in a sneer, his blue eyes sharp, biting, and _different_ from the gentleness she knew. Marian recoiled at vitriol interlaced in her surname. He'd called her that for years, yet the way it rolled off his tongue was with such hatred. And now that he’d said it... she could see this woman was the spitting image of her father, except with her mother's eyes.

"I am the Viscountess of Kirkwall," the woman snapped, "I require that you address me as such.”

"Viscountess Hawke." He was just shy of baring his teeth in a full snarl. Marian had _never_ seen him like that. So full of... Anger. Hatred. Loathing. "You've ignored my letters." 

"Get to the point."

"Surrender Kirkwall." 

"No." 

Sebastian's nostrils flared at her quick response. "Then I will take it by force."

The woman rolled her eyes. "Is this still because of Anders? He's _dead_."

"Is he?" Sebastian stepped toward her, his eyes flashing. "As I remember it, you refused to kill him."

"I would not make him a martyr."

"And in failing to do so, you sealed Kirkwall's fate."

"You've lost your mind." The woman didn't move, but several people nearby ducked as the banners began fluttering in the wind. The wind? They were in the throne room of the keep. That wasn't possible.

Sebastian cast his eyes up one of the banners, before refocusing his stare on the woman in front of him. "And you've been warned. Starkhaven declares war.”

The woman lifted her hand and with a sharp flick of her wrist, the doors flew open at the base of the stairs. "You have exactly one hour to get out of my city."

The vision disappeared and she collapsed onto the ground in front of the font. 

"Marian!" She heard Sebastian shouting. Was it… her Sebastian? Where had he come from? He wrapped his arms around her, trying to pull her closer, but Marian shuddered at his touch, unable to push the image of that other, darker Sebastian out of her mind. She couldn’t even look into his eyes, not knowing whether she’d see a hint of the hatred he’d held for the other woman somewhere in his eyes. The other woman that she felt was just another version of her. If things went differently.

She should have listened to him. She should have. Now that she’d seen him like _that_, she didn’t know if she could ever look at him the same again.

***

Persephone Hawke raged through the keep, Varric's letter clutched in her hand. Papers blew off desks, candles extinguished, and the nobles ran for cover as she unleashed her fury. The man was going to invade Kirkwall and that _usurper_ and his upstart Inquisition were going to help him do it. She would murder him if she ever got her hands on him. _Both_ of them.

She made her way through the streets of Kirkwall, toward the Black Emporium. A whisper had reached her ears last night, borne on the wind, that there was a new relic that could show one the future if only you were brave enough to look. 

Persephone would look. She knew her future and she did not fear it.

"Yesss," Xenon cackled as she stormed through the door. "Knew you would come."

"Tell me how it works."

"One lyrium. Steadily clockwise."

Persephone snatched the phial of lyrium at his feet, bringing it to the font in the back corner. She wrenched the lid off the liquid and took a steadying breath before she started to pour. When she'd finished, she leaned over the font, ready to see the consequences of her actions in the now-chalky liquid.

"My heart, are you here?"

Persephone tensed at hearing the Prince of Starkhaven's rolling lilt calling from below, but the voice was too happy to be him. A blonde woman was sitting in a chair, in _her_ chair, in the bedroom of her estate. What in the—

"Upstairs!" The woman called, snapping her book shut as she rose to her feet. Persephone caught sight of the jagged red scar across her face, running along her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. It was almost beautiful in its grotesqueness. 

Sebastian entered the room. Persephone was frozen, unable to move or look away from the vision unfolding in front of her. The blonde woman ran towards him and leapt into his arms. The man laughed—_laughed_—and twirled her around until they both collapsed onto the bed, their peals of happy laughter echoing around the room.

"You should be at the keep," he chastised as he peppered kisses all over her face.

The woman rolled onto her back with a sigh, staring up at the canopy above her. “With all those lovely people who insist on calling me 'Viscountess' and demanding something from me? I needed a break, just to be Marian Hawke again.”

Persephone stiffened at hearing her surname. Hawke? This woman? Yes. She could see it. She had the same eyes as Malcolm and the same facial structure as Leandra... What in the gods' names was going on?

"What brings you to Kirkwall, _my prince_?” The other Hawke teased, rolling onto her side and lifting a hand to caress Sebastian's cheek. 

He covered her hand with his own as he gazed at her, a warmth in his eyes that Persephone had never witnessed. She'd seen the fire, but never the warmth. "I received a response from the Inquisition. They've agreed to ask for further aid from their allies. Kirkwall will finally get the help it needs."

A large smile spread across the woman's face and the vision began to ripple, as though it were about to disappear. She didn't know what to make of it, but a thought passed through her mind as the image faded back into a chalky white nothing. 

_What about me?_

The font darkened again, giving her one last image. It was of herself running into Rylen's open arms, a smile stretched wide across her face. Persephone couldn’t remember the last time she’d smiled. It was so simple, but the joy coming from them was palpable. Happiness? In _her_ future? Could it be?

"How?" She asked aloud, astounded by the revelation. No. It wasn't possible. The hour of her doom was set. It had been prophesied. She would not let it ever be said that she'd fled.

Xenon cackled behind her. "Thought you could handle it, hmm?"


	13. The First Lesson (Persephone Hawke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt**: A lesson, a lecture, a smirk, a sigh, resignation

She watched from a distance as the teenager ran along the cliff ledge, peals of laughter erupting every so often as the young man behind her reached for her. It was one of Thane Eirik’s sons, a relationship she’d watched blossoming alongside the rebirth of the world.

A sigh slipped from her lips. She’d pushed the thane to allow the young woman to stay, despite the omens. Thirteen birds had flown over the hold the day she arrived. Even the thane knew that one. But it was because of the prophecy that he’d allowed her to stay.

Now that their mild infatuations appeared to have grown into something more, the augur knew something would have to be done about it. Thane Eirik may claim to be a modernist, but there were some lines even he wouldn’t allow the clan to cross. Unless the girl left her life behind, the thane would never allow his son to bind with her. The girl couldn’t leave that life behind, as the augur herself had done so many years before. She couldn’t stay here, not when her destiny had been written clearly in the skies.

“Lowlander,” she called. She didn’t have have to shout as the wind would carry her voice. The Lady would make certain she heard.

To her credit, the young woman immediately stopped running and looked down at her mentor. But Eirik’s son grabbed her, pulling her toward him with a smirk. When he kissed her, on the ledge in full view of the hold, the old woman shook her head. Eirik’s son was tempting his father’s ire.

It was some time yet before the lowlander disentangled herself and began to climb down the cliff. When she approached her mentor, a look of resignation was written across her face. “I suppose you’ll want to give me a lecture now?”

The augur gave the young woman an indulgent smile, “I may be an old woman, but even I understand the whims of young passion.”

“It’s more than that,” the teen insisted. “He loves me.”

The older woman sighed again. She’d have to talk to Eirik soon. “Come, it’s time for your first lesson.”

“My first?” She asked as she followed along the forest path. “But I’ve been here for months. Have I not been training this whole time?”

“Patience,” the old woman told her as they entered a small clearing some distance from the village. The sky watcher was already there, his presence imposing amongst the tranquility of the forest.

The teen gaped at him. “You want me to train with him?”

“Yes. Physical training is important.” The augur gestured toward the man in front of them. “Lowlander, this is Sky Watcher Amund.”

The man nodded at her and the teen’s eyes narrowed as she took in the large hammer the man held in both hands. She could almost see her calculating the quickest way to disarm him, but she wouldn’t always be able to rely on magic alone. “Amund, Persephone Hawke.”

Persephone set her jaw and lifted her chin, a spark of defiance in her eyes as she kept them locked on the man in front of her.

“The Lady looks after you, Lowlander,” Amund said as he studied her with a practiced eye.

“I look after myself.”

And there she was. The augur sighed again, this time in relief at that flash of tenacity she’d seen when the girl arrived at the hold.

But now, it was time to deal with the boy. Persephone couldn’t afford distractions. It might hurt, but it was better for her to learn that lesson now. The skies had warned the girl's heart would be her downfall and it was the augur's duty to make sure that didn't happen. Not with the fate of the world on the girl's shoulders.


	14. First Meeting (Persephone Hawke x Rylen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt**: First Meeting

He swiftly rapped his knuckles three times on the knight-commander’s door, the sound echoing into the room on the other side. 

“Enter!” He was surprised by hearing a woman’s strong voice call from within. 

He pushed open the door to find Cullen Rutherford, Knight-Commander of Kirkwall's Templars, standing in front of his own desk, arms crossed in annoyance, as a woman stared at him from behind the desk. He gave her a quick glance, quickly shifting his eyes toward his superior officer. 

It wasn’t quickly enough as her dark hair and bold red lips burned in his mind. He willed himself not to look back at her, to not stare at the woman behind the desk.

“This arrived by messenger just now.” He held out a folded piece of paper and the knight-commander took it and broke the seal to read the missive. Rylen hadn’t recognized the seal, but he wasn’t able to keep potentially important news from his commanding officer at this fragile time. 

Especially when there was a mage sitting behind that commanding officer’s desk in the middle of the Gallows. He could feel her magic, dark and powerful, pulsing around them in the small room.

As Cullen read through the note, Rylen stared at the letter in his hands. Thoughts raced through his mind of who the woman was and what she wanted. 

“Who are you?” she asked, the question piercing through him as an arrow might pierce armor. Her voice was earthy and sultry and the words rolled off her tongue with an unusual accent. Not Kirkwallian. Fereldan? But it was not like Rutherford's.

He turned to look directly upon her, his eyes immediately drawn back to her lips that had been painted a bright red color, stark against her pale skin. She had an arrow inked on her lower lip and chin, pointing upward. He lifted his eyes to meet hers and was struck by the intensity of their dark blue. Dark and stormy like the Waking Sea that beat at the gates of Kirkwall.

“Knight-Captain Rylen, my lady.” He’d thrown my lady on as a wild guess, but when she didn’t react, he knew she was accustomed to it. A noble then.

“Is Rylen your given or your surname?”

“Given.” He paused, hoping she could read the subtext and not continue this line of questioning.

She lifted her eyebrows and her red lips slightly pursed. “And do you have a surname?”

“I do.” 

The woman stared at him for several long moments. “May I have it?” 

He ran his tongue over his teeth as he considered whether or not to give it. Might as well. This one didn’t seem the type to take no for an answer. “Clacher.”

“Well, Knight-Captain Clacher.” The way his name passed through her lips was pure seduction. A tempting caress sliding over him like sin. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Rylen worked his jaw, fighting the combined annoyance and attraction within him, but was distracted by the thoughts when Cullen cleared his throat. Rylen had entirely forgotten his superior was still in the room. “Knight-Captain, this is Lady Persephone Hawke, Viscountess of Kirkwall.”

The woman—Persephone—leaned back in the chair. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

She was something else. Strong-willed. Magnetic. And she lit a fire in him that he’d not known before.

“Then a pleasure it is," he told her.

She held his gaze evenly. "Oh, it will be."

His temporary duty in Kirkwall was suddenly looking a lot more interesting.


	15. Unexpected Visitors (Persephone Hawke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** Codex Entry: Skyhold gets an unexpected visitor

I might as well write it, sister, but know I’m rolling my eyes as I do. You were right. Although this Inquisition’s stronghold may lay within the borders of Orlais, there is far too heavy a Fereldan influence for it to be anything else.

What was it this time, you ask? Unexpected visitors... the dogs. No, not the Fereldans themselves, although you know I agree with _that_ sentiment, but the literal dogs.

That dwarf, who writes those scandalous novels you love, saw fit to bring Viscountess Hawke’s mabaris from the Free Marches all the way to Skyhold. One would have been more than enough to spoil the fresh mountain air—it’s impossible to escape the stench of the creatures, you know—but the woman has two. _Two_. I remember you always thought that rumor to be exaggerated, but the viscountess most certainly has two full-grown mabari war hounds. I have seen them with my very own eyes and they are indeed terrifying, vicious beasts fit to guard the gates of the Void itself. 

Rumor has it that Inquisitor Trevelyan despises her mongrels and insisted she get rid of them. Given the stories of the woman, that she relented to the Inquisitor’s demand came as quite a shock. But get rid of them she did. For the most part.

The black one stays in the barracks when it can’t stay with her—that is, when she is otherwise _occupied_ by the Inquisitor—while the other, the brown one, was adopted by the Inquisition’s commander, much to my _displeasure_. Yes, sister, I did remove him from my list of potential suitors given that a slobbering beast now resides in his room. 

Such a disappointment. 

\- Excerpt from a letter dated Drakonis 9:42


	16. A Happy Reunion (Persephone Hawke x Rylen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt**: Reuniting after a long time apart

I sighed and snuggled up next to him on the bedroll all the tighter. This place was cold at night, colder even than the mountains. Colder especially than Kirkwall. I didn't understand how it could be so cold when it was so hot during the day. So hot I couldn't even move sometimes! But the heat meant nap time and I _love_ nap time.

These months with him had been good. Not the same as they’d been with her, but good enough.

As I took a deep breath, there was something there… something on the wind. I sat up, listening for any noise in the unnatural quietness of this place.

“What is it?” he asked, still halfway asleep beside me. He was lucky to have me, otherwise he’d be at a disadvantage. He slept like the dead. But it was these months we'd been together that he learned to trust my instincts. He was good. I liked him.

And then… there it was again. My next deep breath confirmed what I thought. She was here. I was on my feet and through the flap in the tent before he’d even managed to sit up all the way.

She was dismounting from her horse as I rushed toward her. It was _that_ horse. The one that smelled like death and decay, like bodies on the battle ground, bloodied and stale. I heard someone say it was dead once, but how was it dead if it was still alive? A mystery. It didn't matter. When I smelled it, I knew it was her. I couldn’t wait for her to have both feet on the ground, I was so happy to see her after our eternity apart.

She’d come back to me!

Her laughter was a soothing balm and her hands touched me all over, more comforting than any other’s. I danced, rejoicing in my other half returning to me.

When she pressed her face in my neck, I turned to meet her halfway and gave her a kiss to show her how much I loved her. She was my most favorite person in the entire world. I hope she knew that.

She laughed, that loud laugh that I’d missed in our time apart, and held me all the tighter. Here was where I was meant to be. Here in her arms.

When he finally made it out of the tent, he stood and simply watched. I liked that about him. He knew the order of things, giving me my turn before he took his own. The others called him captain, and sometimes even commander, but he knew that I ranked above him when it came to this.

The moment was all too brief as she stood and ran into his arms. I squeezed between them, pleased by their combined rumbling laughter that surrounded me, as my other half reached down behind my ears, murmuring words of love. His hand joined hers, different, but still nice, and I decided we should keep him. There was room enough for him, too.

I beat them back into the tent and took my place on the bedroll, watching to see what her reaction was. He’d been softer than she was and I wondered what would happen. Would she make me leave?

“Rylen…” she hesitated, glancing at me before looking back at him. “I thought we agreed Cerberus didn’t sleep in the bed.”

He shrugged as a smile played at his lips. “He was convincing.”

She laughed again as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down into the bed. I climbed over him to wedge myself between them. Yep, this was where I was meant to be. And two humans were _way_ better than one.


	17. A Birthday Celebration! (Desmond Hawke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt**: _Codex Entry_ A birthday celebration!

The celebration of Ser Hawke’s birthday was indeed an affair to remember! Despite that it fell on a Makersday and the Hawke family, as per their normal routine, spent the majority of daylight hours at the Chantry, what happened after sunset will certainly be added to the annals of Kirkwall.

A Lowtown tavern by the name of the Hanged Man supplied the beer, causing quite the commotion as workers rolled filled casks through the city streets straight into Hightown. Evening entertainment included traditional Kirkwallian dance and song, the likes of which are not often heard any longer in that part of the Free Marches. By all accounts, and by the unverifiable but truly astounding amount of alcohol reported to have been consumed, it was a raucous and rowdy event that lasted well into the early morning hours of Moonday.

Rumors say that, for his part, Ser Hawke had no prior knowledge and arrived after Compline prayers to find his house alight with the aforementioned festivities. The event is said to have been coordinated by his companion and alleged lover, a mainstay of the Hanged Man and other less than reputable establishments of the city.

Neighbors have filed a formal complaint with Viscount’s Keep.

\- _A copy of a_ News from Thedas _notice from late Drakonis 9:34_


	18. A Night Walk in Hightown (Desmond Hawke x Isabela)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt**: “Ignore me, I didn’t see anything” & Irrational anger, a gift, dark eyes

Kirkwall was blessedly silent as Desmond walked with Guardsman Forbes back to the barracks. Not Guardsman Forbes. Lila, her name was Lila. She hadn’t been with the city guard long, no more than a couple months at most, but Des had encountered her more than a few times on his nightly jaunts.

Tonight she’d been at the Hanged Man and one thing led to another and... here they were, walking alone through the streets of Hightown. The closer he got to the keep, the more he slowed his pace. He’d be alone in his mansion again soon enough and, truth be told, it was nice to have company for once.

When they reached the courtyard in front of the keep, Lila smiled up at him. “Thank you for seeing me home, Serah Hawke.”

“It was my pleasure, Lila.” Her eyes shone brightly in the moonlight as Des reached up to brush a stray hair out of her face. She covered his hand with hers as she gazed up at him. He took the hint, lowering his face until he gently brushed her lips with his.

It was a sweet enough kiss. Soft and gentle, though it reminded him of kissing Merrill which— He pushed the thought from his head and tried to focus on the woman whom he was actually kissing at that moment and not one of the other many failed relationships that dotted his past.

A none-to-delicate cough interrupted them. Des broke away and turned toward the cough, his heart rate accelerating at seeing Isabela leaning against a pole, a devious smile on her face.

Of course it was. Any time he'd started to move on, she'd always find some way back into his life.

“Ignore me, I didn’t see anything,” she drawled.

Lila let out a soft laugh next to him. “I’ll see you later,” she told him with a squeeze of his arm.

Des captured her hand and pressed a kiss to the back. “I’ll call on you soon.”

With another pretty smile, she started up the stairs for the keep.

“Oh, isn’t she sweet?” Isabela purred as Des turned back toward her. He couldn’t stop himself from approaching her, not that he wanted to. Maker, what was it that she had over him? She didn’t move as he took steady steps in her direction.

“Very,” Des clipped. He would not be discussing this with Isabela. Not right now, not ever. “What do you want, Iz?”

Her mouth ticked up as he stepped closer to her, drawn in by her eyes, darkened by the shadows of the night as they were. “I was wondering what the great Champion is doing these days. A guardswoman apparently.”

“Are you jealous? Odd considering you’ve been avoiding me for the last three years.” He didn’t mean to snap at her. He knew the feeling inside of him was anger—albeit irrational anger—but every time he was near her all logic disappeared. It wasn't all her fault, he participated in this dance every bit as enthusiastically as she did.

“Well, how about a gift to make up for it then?”

Des shook his head in disbelief. No, this time he would be strong. This time he would walk away and he would move on.

He started to turn, but her hand on his arm stopped him and her breath hot against his ear sent a thrill down his spine. “Didn’t you miss me?”

As Isabela pulled him toward the estate, he closed his eyes and offered a quick prayer to the Maker to forgive his weakness. Yet again.


	19. An Egregious Omission (Desmond Hawke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt**: Something Varric lied about, exaggerated, or omitted from his stories about Hawke or the Inquisitor

“Brother, good to see you.” Carver’s grip was firm in his own, stronger than the last time Desmond had seen him, and his face was less youthful, aged by what he’d seen over the past three years. What they’d both seen.

“Carver.” Desmond pulled him in for a hug. “How’s Bee?”

“Alive, thank the Maker.”

Des breathed a sigh of relief. Since the moment he’d received Carver’s letter that Bethany had joined a group of rebel mages in Ferelden, his only focus has been to get there and protect her. It had been the last promise to his mother that he protect them—both of them.

“Can I see her?” he asked.

Carver hesitated. “I have to warn you, the mages aren’t exactly well regarded here. They’re under Templar supervision and you might not like where they’re… staying.”

“I don’t care where she is, I just want to see her.”

Carver nodded and led him through the gates into the village. After so much time in Starkhaven, Ferelden had been a shock. He’d forgotten how different his homeland was from the Free Marches, and the crispness in the air told him it’d be winter soon. He couldn’t remember the last Fereldan winter he’d experienced.

A section of the village had been blocked off and two Templars guarded the gates. Carver greeted them both by name and introduced Des. As one of them stepped back to let them enter, Carver lowered his voice to explain most of the Templars at Haven had defected with Cullen, like Carver himself had. 

Des had taken no more than a step forward before he heard a vehement voice behind him. “Not another step.” 

He froze, turning to face the speaker. His blood ran cold at seeing the symbol emblazoned across the woman’s armor. It was a symbol that struck fear into the heart of many a Templar, and Des was no exception. What was a Seeker of Truth doing here?

“State your business,” she continued, her accented voice marked her as somewhere northern. Perhaps Nevarra?

“Seeker Pentaghast,” Carver dryly responded, “My brother has just arrived from Starkhaven. We’re visiting our sister.”

“Your... brother?” the woman asked, her eyes narrowing sharply as they darted back and forth between Des and Carver. Then they widened as she straightened. “You’re Hawke?” Des nodded once, his eyes still locked on her as she appraised him. “I thought you’d be taller.”

He tilted his head and studied her in return. Aside from the braid wrapped around her head, her hair was cut short and an old scar ran down her right cheek. “You know who I am?”

“That’s the Seeker who was looking for you,” Carver whispered behind him. “And apparently she read Varric’s book.”

That brought a sigh to his lips. “I don’t know why Varric insisted I was as tall as a qunari, though it has been rather useful. Desmond Hawke,” he said as he stepped toward the woman and extended his hand.

Nothing happened. The woman simply stood staring at his outstretched hand until Des lifted his eyebrows, spurring her to action. “Oh! Cassandra Pentaghast.” She gave him a firm shake, then scrunched up her nose as though she’d just thought of something important. “Excuse me.” As she turned to leave, Des could have sworn he heard her mutter, “I am going to kill him.”

“What just happened?” a bewildered Des asked aloud, turning to give Carver a questioning look.

His brother chuckled. “You weren’t quite what she expected.”

Shaking his head, Des turned back to the cordoned off part of the village. “Oh well. Come on, let’s go see Bee.”


End file.
